


Twists and Turns

by flightyrock



Series: Happy Steve Bingo 2018 [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: :), Alcohol, Bearded Steve Rogers, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Crochet, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cute, Happy Steve Bingo, Hot Chocolate, Ice Skating, Innuendo, Insecurity, M/M, Parks and Rec - Freeform, Sharing Clothing, Shopping, Shrunkyclunks, Social Media, Swearing, cabin fever, impractical use of wintertime apparel, learning to crochet, no shave November, thor/his hammer, violent card games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-17
Packaged: 2019-07-13 10:02:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16015616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flightyrock/pseuds/flightyrock
Summary: When a blizzard hits NYC, Bucky and Steve are forced to get creative to stave off cabin fever.Or: A Shrunkyclunks fic where Bucky teaches Steve how to crochet.  It has consequences neither of them anticipated.Prompt: "Sharing a Scarf"





	Twists and Turns

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the wonderful captain-ameriyeah (https://captain-ameriyeah.tumblr.com/) for betaing this fic!
> 
> This was written for the prompt "Sharing a Scarf" for Happy Steve Bingo.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Bucky’s eye twitched. Steve was squirming in place _again_ , depressing the cushion on his worn-out couch so that Bucky slid into him.

Which normally wouldn’t be an unpleasant development, but after two straight days of being trapped in Bucky’s cozy (read; _small_ ) apartment in Bed-Stuy by the blizzard painting the town white, they were both understandably stir-crazy.

It was early December, but winter apparently decided it was sick of waiting its turn and burst through the door a full three weeks early with a fifty-year storm.

 

<<>> 

 

“Still don’t understand why they call it that,” Steve had muttered as they were pushed and shoved by other disgruntled New Yorkers out to stock up on milk and break (and more than a few bottles of liquor) before the snow locked everyone in.  “It’s not like they know that something worse won’t come along.”

Bucky had shrugged, scowling at the dipshit with the jean jacket who had rammed into his arm so hard he almost dropped the Bailey’s.  “Here,” Steve held out his hand for the handle, and Bucky allowed him to put it in the cart, along with the soft throws, scented candles, decks of cards, and ingredients for real hot chocolate and potato chowder, among other blizzard essentials.

Bucky bent down to take a look at the wine selection, thumbing through the bottles.  A dry red would probably provide a better complement to all the dark chocolate Bucky had stacked in the cart, but he knew that Steve secretly loved a fruity Moscato.  He could rarely justify spending so much on wine, and Steve still wasn’t used to the concept of treating himself, despite his veritable mountain of backpay.  Bucky supposed there had to be _some_ benfit to being labeled as “missing in action” for seventy years.  He wouldn’t be surprised if Steve is still in shock after seeing all those zeros. 

Bucky waffled for a few more moments, fingers twitching toward the bottle. Oh, why not?  No better time to live a little than during the feverish rush before being confined indoors by a huge pile of snow.

He handed the bottle up to Steve, who lit up when he read the label.  Bucky hid a knowing smile as he levered himself to his feet; he loved treating Steve.  It was a good thing Steve didn’t know that Bucky would do just about anything to see that sunshine smile.

“Dunno,” Bucky scratched his nose as they worked on squeezing their way up to the harried cashiers at the front.  “I know I learned about this in school at some point; something about statistics, like out of a 100-year period, a 100-year storm happens once in 100 years, so there’s like a 1% chance of something of that magnitude happening.  So a fifty year storm would be one that has like a 2% chance of happening.”

Steve’s attentive fondness turned to mock-exasperation.  “So you _did_ know,” he pointed out, snagging a bag of pistachios from an endcap.

“No!” Bucky protested.  “I have no idea how they decide what’s likely or not! Or who decides it!  Well, I remember something about weather records and--shut up!”

He pointed at Steve with one of the extra lighters he had grabbed from the display in the check-out, which did nothing whatsoever to dispel the shit-eating grin that wrinkled Steve’s beard. 

Forget investing several million dollars in climate change solutions; convincing Steve that No-Shave November was mandatory was the most significant public service Stark had performed to date.

Some of those errant thoughts must have made their way to his face, because Steve only grinned wider and leaned over the cart to place a soft kiss on Bucky’s own modest scruff.  That grin turned wicked as he starting loading their supplies onto the conveyor belt, watching Bucky flush in mortification as the cashier’s eyes widened in shock and recognition. 

Great.  This time tomorrow, Captain America’s preferred brand of condoms would be trending, or Bucky would eat his hat.  And this one was one of his favorites, slightly lopsided, but the first he’d successfully made when he started crocheting a few years ago.

 

<<>> 

 

Bucky got to keep his hat.

 

<<>> 

 

“Quit squirming,” Bucky shoved Steve’s stupidly broad shoulder, putting a bit of distance between them.  Seriously, if Steve couldn’t settle down, Bucky was going to lose it.

“Sorry,” Steve sighed.  “Just…feel antsy.”

“You and me both, pal,” Bucky commiserated. 

When news first hit about the blizzard, they were more excited than anything about the mandatory vacation; between Bucky’s late shifts at the bar and Steve’s missions, the couple really didn’t get to spend a whole lot of time together.

And the vacation really had been great, at first.  Steve taught Bucky how to cheat at poker.  Bucky taught Steve how to play Egyptian Ratscrew, which Bucky still regrets.  (He swears his hand will never be the same, no matter how many times Steve apologizes). They drank boozy hot chocolate and wine and snuggled together on Bucky’s ratty couch, sniggering over bad rom coms and binge-watching shows on Netflix. 

But sitting on their asses was starting to get old.  Even Bucky, champion binge-watcher, was feeling the need to _move_.  He couldn’t imagine how much worse it must be for Steve.

“It’s not just the physical aspect,” Steve continued, rotating slightly so Bucky could pull him into a hug.  “Ever since the serum, I’ve noticed that I get bored easier.  Takes more effort to keep myself occupied, and staring at the same walls isn’t exactly stimulation.  I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Never thought about it that way before, but it makes sense,” Bucky pulled Steve in a bit tighter, feeling how tense his boyfriend was.  “I take it _Parks and Rec_ ain’t cutting it?”

Steve shook his head, nuzzling a bit into Bucky’s shoulder, his beard rasping pleasantly against the side of Bucky’s neck. 

“It’s not that I’m not enjoying it; it’s interesting, but I just can’t focus.”

Bucky hummed, thinking.  He used to have the same problem when he was stuck inside, alone, in his dorm during the long winter months.  He’d felt like he should be doing something useful while he watched.  He traced patterns absentmindedly across Steve’s broad back, appreciating his built absently as he turned the problem over in his mind.

He jerked back as an idea hit him.  It was perfect!

Steve startled, but Bucky was already off the couch and dashing to his room, intent on rooting around in his closet.

When he re-entered the living room, he was carrying a couple of re-usable shopping bags and wearing a huge grin.

“How would you like to learn how to crochet?”

 

<<>> 

 

Steve was a fast learner, no surprise there.

First, Bucky taught him how to chain, and once he could produce consistent loops, they moved on to simple stitches.

“How are you so good at everything?” Bucky complained, watching Steve produce a perfect row of double-crochet stitches effortlessly on his first try.  When he was first learning, t had taken Bucky several hours to get the stitch to look somewhat passable, and weeks to get it even close to that consistent.

Steve smirked at him, then his smile softened into something unbearably sincere.  “Guess I just had a great teacher.”

Bucky flushed, then rolled his eyes. 

Not that he’d admit it to Steve, but watching Steve’s big, callused hands maneuver that small hook with such dexterity and skill did something to Bucky.  Or maybe it was the way he was focused on his work so completely, mouth open slightly as he formed stitch after perfect stitch.  Something about it soothed a rough part of Bucky’s brain, much like those viral videos of people sorting candy into perfect color gradients, or doing calligraphy. He could watch Steve crochet all day.

He cleared his throat, a bit louder than he originally intended, and Steve startled as he looked up.

“Um, well, now that you’ve got the basics down, you want to make something?  When I was taught, the first thing I made was a scarf, but you could really pick whatever you want—“

“You made a scarf?  Where, can I see?” Steve grinned up at him eagerly.

“What? No, it was really bad!  I don’t even know if I still have—“

Sad puppy eyes cut him off, and he sighed, disappearing back in his room to rummage in the back of the closet.  Whoever set Steve up as a pillar of infallible masculine strength had obviously never been exposed to the sad puppy eyes.

It took some digging, but he finally surfaced with the sad scrap of fabric.  He winced; the thing was a awful, truly embarrassing.  It was striped disaster in plum and mustard; the stitch size was inconsistent.  There were parts that were shorter than others, because Bucky was too lazy to fix it when he realized his mistake; he would have had to unravel half the damn thing, and he just wasn’t having it.  It was obvious where he’d run out of yarn and clumsily knotted the ends together.  And it was _tasseled_.  He hated looking at it.

But Steve wanted to see it, so he sighed, and brought the ugly mess out to the couch, tossing it unceremoniously into Steve’s lap.

Steve’s eyes lit up as he ran the fabric through his fingers, lingering over the pulls and lumps.  Bucky fidgeted through his very _thorough_ examination.  He was just about to snatch it back to throw it back where he didn’t have to look at it, when Steve reverently wrapped the thing around his neck, fingering the tassels.

“I love it,” Steve declared. 

“What? No,” Bucky sputtered.  “It’s so bad, I don’t even like looking at it.”

Steve pouted, but he reluctantly unwound it and handed it back to Bucky.

Bucky stared at him.  Steve looked legitimately regretful to part with it.

“You really like this thing?” Bucky shook the scarf skeptically.  “But there are so many mistakes!”

“Yeah,” Steve said softly, and Bucky allowed him to pull it gently out of his hands.  “But I like them.  Reminds me a person made it, even if that person is the jerk that drinks directly out of the juice carton.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, and elbowed Steve so he’d scoot over a bit. 

“Says the punk that complains my Frosted Flakes are too sweet, while plowing through the box.”

Steve smirked, pulling Bucky closer.  They basked in each other’s warmth for a bit, listening to the wind howl as it rushed past the corners of the building.

“So can I keep it?” Steve grinned, like he already knew that Bucky was going to cave.  He was right.

“Jeez, fine!”  Bucky huffed.  “I don’t care what happens to it.  Just don’t want to look at it again.”

Steve patted Bucky’s shoulder mockingly, but he got up to stick it in his bag.

 

When Steve was settled on the couch again, Bucky had already started chaining a foundation row with some leftover maroon wool.  There was only one way he’d have a great excuse to stare at Steve working his perfect rows.

“So I had a thought; wanna make something together?”

Steve grinned at him, settling down on the couch sideways and cross-legged so he was facing Bucky, who mirrored him.

“What’re we making?” Steve propped his head up with his hand, resting his elbow on his knee.

“You tell me,” Bucky grinned, handing the construction over to Steve, who stared at him in confusion until Bucky gestured to the bags of scarp yarn.  “Pick a color; gotta use these scraps somehow.”

Steve lit up, choosing a cheery yellow and handing it over so Bucky could show him how to work in new colors.

“A scarf,” he decided, watching Bucky remove the yarn again so Steve could try his hand at joining.  “Let’s make a scarf.”

“Okay.” A warm feeling settled in his chest.  “Sure thing, pal.”

 

<<>> 

 

They took turns for the first few rows, handing it back and forth, Leslie and Ron squabbling in the background, until it was big enough for both of them to work on at the same time, one on each end.

It must have been a funny sight, two cut guys sitting cross-legged on a couch, biceps bulging, intently focused on a tiny scrap of fabric, so close their foreheads were almost touching.  If the proximity prompted several distracting make-out sessions, it’s not like they had anywhere to be. 

Bucky actually felt a pang of loss when the scarf soon grew long enough to work on while they sat shoulder to shoulder instead of forehead to forehead, laughing at April and Andy’s antics.

Bucky didn’t know about Steve, but he just let himself forget what he was making and formed whatever stitch he felt like, free-forming the thing.  Steve switched his colors a lot, and Bucky caught himself staring at the rhythmic motion of his hands more often than the television.

Steve stole a couple of kisses here and there before upping the intensity, nibbling on Bucky’s ear and sucking at his neck, burning a trail across the sensitive skin, prompting a longer distraction.

But by bedtime on that second day, their creation was pretty much finished.

“Oh,” Bucky stared at the thing sitting on the couch.  Steve shot him an inquisitive look, bringing the damp dishrag with him into the living room. “Oh.”

It was after they had a late dinner of leftover potato chowder and decided to clean up the room a bit before bed that Bucky truly looked at their creation for the first time.

“It’s huge,” Steve gaped, before realizing what came out of his mouth and glaring warningly at Bucky.  “Don’t you dare.”

Bucky winked at him.  “I would never.  I agree with you, it’s so _long_ and _thick_ —“

“Stop!” Steve moaned, burying his red face in his hands.  “I wasn’t thinking.  You know what I meant.”

“Yeah,” Bucky admitted.  “Guess we got a little carried away.”

Steve smirked at him.

“Don’t you start,” Bucky pointed at him.  He walked over, and picked up the fabric appraisingly.  “Your side looks really good sweetheart; real consistent.  And the color gradients are so striking.”

Steve smiled, coming over to pick up Bucky’s side of their creation, running his hands lovingly over a row of jasmine stitch.  “I love your stitch variety.  Especially the flowers.”

Bucky frowned down at the thing.  “Guess in hindsight we should have just made two scarves.  Who’s going to wear this thing?”

Steve stared down at the cloth for a while, easily long enough to span the length of the couch, then a truly terrifying grin split his face.  His eyes twinkled mischievously.

Bucky squinted at him.  “What are you—“ His look of inquiry slammed to horror.  Steve just quirked an eyebrow and grinned harder.

“No!” Bucky crossed his arms. “Absolutely not!”

 

<<>> 

 

“I hate you,” Bucky grumbled, burying himself further in his coat, as if doing so would inspire all the other park-goers to put their damn phones away and _skate_.

Steve just laughed, throwing back his head in mirth until it caught on the scarf, jerking Bucky backwards, and he started to giggle instead.

Bucky knew his glare didn’t have any real heat.  God, Steve was cute.  He couldn’t help but join in.

They had been invited by the other Avengers to go skating to celebrate their mutual survival of the storm (“and each other,” the invitation text read) and Steve wanted to show off their newly-completed masterpiece.  Together.  As in, both of them.  At the same time.  Sharing that monster of a scarf.  He had fought, but Steve brought out the sad puppy eyes, which coupled with the beard, just wasn’t fair. 

Obviously, Bucky caved.  He wasn’t a monster.

“I’m speechless.  What am I even looking at?”

Bucky rolled his eyes.  Stark had arrived.

“Look at it, Pep, it’s clearly gained sentience; it’s wearing a national icon and his boyfriend!  Oh my God, did you _make that_!?”  His eyes widened comically in delight.

“ _Tony_ ,” Pepper smacked him on the arm, skating over to Bucky so she could look at the scarf more closely.

“Love the colors, boys!” A familiar voice rang out behind him.

Bucky jumped, and Natasha smirked at him.

When he and Steve had gotten together, Natasha was intensely invested in their relationship.  Even more so than Stark, the biggest romantic meddler on the team despite his own on-again, off-again relationship.  Steve told Bucky that Nat had been trying to set him up for months before they met.  Would follow him around on dates like he didn’t know she was there.  Steve wasn’t sure if that was a future thing, or if that was just Natasha.  Bucky privately thinks it’s a bit of both.

“Thanks,” Steve practically preened.  “We made it.”

“I can tell,” Clint smiled.  “I claim the next one!”

“No fair!” Tony said.  “Cap, we’re pals, right?  I saved you from humiliation countless times.  I should have thought of couples’ scarves _years_ ago, it’s genius!  Please, please, _please_ make one for Pep and I—“

“ _No_ ,” Pepper placed her index finger over Tony’s mouth emphatically and stared him down.  “Absolutely not.”

“But Pep…”

“No, Tony.  I mean it.  I vetoed all couples’ items after our last camping trip, you know that.  Remember what happened with the sleeping bag?”

Tony blanched.  Clint moved in for the kill.

“What happened with the sleeping bag, Tony?”

“Nothing.  Absolutely nothing to report, nothing of note, oh look, are they selling hot chocolate?  I could go for some hot chocolate, do any of you want hot chocolate?  Katniss?  Buckster?”  Bucky shook his head.  “No?  Just me?  Cool, I’ll be,” Tony pointed awkwardly to the stand, and made his escape.

Nat and Pepper high-fived, and Steve forgot himself and laughed again, yanking Bucky back with him again, then apologizing.  This was a serious design flaw, but it was hard to mind, snuggled close to Steve as they stretched their legs and skated with their friends.

 

<<>> 

 

 _Two weeks later_ …

 

“Bucky!”  Steve shouted, and shoved his phone in his face.  Unnecessary, as Bucky was sitting right next to him on the couch, working on his end of their collaborative afghan.  It was coming along nicely; Steve was working with warm colors, while Bucky was sticking with cool ones.

Steve had been taking a break to check his feed, suddenly bursting into laughter before promptly shoving his phone into Bucky’s face.  The man was lucky Bucky loved him.

Bucky took the phone, and started howling.

Turns out Stark wasn’t the only one who loved the couple’s scarf idea.  Shortly after photos of Steve and him at the skating rink went viral, it became a new trend, pairs all over the internet were posting photos of them sharing a scarf.

The photo Steve showed him was of Thor and his hammer, resting on a table, a designer scarf wrapped around his neck and the handle. 

“Sometimes I don’t know if that man is seriously clueless of if he’s just trolling everyone,” Bucky gasped, wiping his eyes.  Steve chuckled.

“Me neither.  Gotta say, they make a great couple.” Steve put his arm around Bucky.

“Mmm,” Bucky burrowed closer to Steve under the blanket that was slowly growing during snowy days.  He could get used to this.

**Author's Note:**

> The hilarious thing is that according to a crochet history article I read, it seems like Irish immigrants helped popularize crochet in America. So were you really learning this for the first time, Steven? Hmmm?
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! The link to the article is below if you're interested. As usual, feel free to comment below or come yell with me about just about anything at tumblr. My username is the same over there.
> 
> Cheers!
> 
> https://www.crochet.org/page/crochethistory


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